I was probably a bit of a Guinea pig and given far more per infection than I would be today. The courses are streamlined now and come in pill form. Then, my mother worried about my ingesting masses of plastic, decided to cut the capsules in two, empty powder onto a teaspoon and expect me to swallow. I can remember that clagging dry mass in my throat now and I was “happy” when allowed to swallow the plastic again. My mother’s story was the tragic one. She had various ailments and took all kinds of pills and medicines, the GP visiting the house produced a syringe and after injecting her with Adrenalin, I think, left it on the mantelpiece, to give me a permanent fear of needles. I was woken one glorious May Sunday by my Vice Principal while I was at College to be told she had died. She was only fifty two, I was poleaxed as stupidly this hadn’t crossed my mind. Whether the drugs gave her longer life or shortened it will never be known, but it has given me a horror of casual and unnecessary pill taking and I avoid it when I can. 
Some sort of inheritance You have left your pot drugs that kept you going,in the reaches of my mind.I drag it out, strip off the lidwitness again the chemists’ dreamscape of colours it takes to carry a life yours and mine. Thanks for reading ,Cynthia
Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook
